


with a fluency of crimson

by 2pork, bunssodancross, shakeit_dontbreakit, snapchat



Series: pleasures are like poppies spread [2]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: 2park paintball, 2park smoking is sexy sigh, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hauntings, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mars, SCIFI AU, Soulmate AU, Vague angst, Yuri on Ice AU, blood tech!jihoon, coach!jihoon, combini worker!woojin, farmer!woojin, hockey player turned figure skater!woojin, jihoon dressing up as red riding hood, lots of fluff, pyrokinetic!woojin, red hair!woojin, red-themed aus, some dark killing shit (tw: char death), telepath!jihoon, woojin being helpful, woojin being unhelpful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2pork/pseuds/2pork, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunssodancross/pseuds/bunssodancross, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakeit_dontbreakit/pseuds/shakeit_dontbreakit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapchat/pseuds/snapchat
Summary: a collection of drabbles around red-themed prompts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> this is a collection of drabbles by [bunssodan cross](http://twitter.com/bsdcross), specifically [2pork](http://archiveofourown.org/users/2pork), [99izm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shakeit_dontbreakit), [slackeuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slackeuse), and [snapchat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/snapchat). for our first project, we took prompts on twitter around a theme and posted them on twitter, and now we're posting those drabbles here as well.
> 
> please check each chapter for the individual author, prompt, and **warnings**. we love kudos and comments! also feel free to check us out and follow us on twitter.
> 
> \- bunssodan cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon first meets Woojin when the moon turns red (prompt from [@baristaminseok](http://twitter.com/baristaminseok))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 443 words

There are times when the Sun paints the Moon red in scattered beams of sunlight stretched across a bridge called Earth.  
  
These are the days when the Earth stills itself; when Jihoon can take steps across it, one-by-one, the soles of his feet light atop the surface.  
  
It’s the only time that he can see the face of the Sun beyond just in passing. It’s the only time that he can see himself in the same plane of existence as Woojin—the only time that their light does not engage in a battle of day and night, but merely exists, softly, gently, together.  
  
“Did you wait long?” Jihoon calls out in greeting when he finds Woojin where he always is, skipping rocks across a blue that he knows to be called a sea. The rock jumps, skittish atop the waters—once, twice, thrice, before sinking. “You can do better than that.”  
  
“Don’t you mean, I missed you?” Woojin replies, raising a brow.  
  
“I missed you,” Jihoon says with little hesitation. He has nightmares sometimes where he tries to take the last step necessary to cross his half of the Earth to meet Woojin in the middle—but the fear subsides every single time he sees Woojin waiting, warmth emanating from every inch of his body, the Sun personified. “Your turn.”  
  
“Missed you too,” says Woojin, words curling off the top of his tongue like an all-too familiar prayer. “Hey. Remember when we first met? In this exact same spot. You were running across because you thought the world had grozen in its place. Idiot.”  
  
“You were here too, you know.” The challenging expression on Jihoon’s face is taunting, teasing. “Crying, actually, because you thought it was your fault.”  
  
“Shut up. I was a kid and I didn’t know that I was only one tiny piece of the entire galaxy.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Jihoon concedes. “What do they call this again? When the Earth lets me remind myself of what you look like?”  
  
As a child of the Moon, he’s only ever memorized a handful of things: the placement of the stars, a color darker than dark, and the curves of Woojin’s face—a smile that always seems to glow with a light unlike Jihoon’s.  
  
“An eclipse?” Woojin hums, says nothing when Jihoon sidles up beside him, their shoulders barely touching. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I call it what it is.”  
  
“Yeah? And what’s that?”  
  
Woojin shrugs, lips stretched in a grin that feels like promise. He turns his head, looks Jihoon in the eye, unwavering, and his grin sobers into something softer, nondescript. “Coming home,” he says. “I call it coming home.”

 

❀


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jihoon’s home is entirely white, until woojin moves in with him and colors it with red flowers (prompt from [@applewooj](http://twitter.com/applewooj))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 410 words

woojin moves into jihoon’s place slowly, maybe just as slowly as he’d moved into his heart. it’s a red toothbrush in jihoon’s all-white bathroom when they’ve been dating for four months.

“woojin,” jihoon says when he sees it in the morning. “since when--”

he plucks it from the white porcelain cup where jihoon’s white toothbrush waits for him. “--last night. brought deodorant, too. I can borrow toothpaste, yeah?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, grabs the tube and squeezes out a thin stripe along the bristles. he passes it to jihoon along with his own toothbrush.

jihoon takes it from him, watches him out of the corner of his eye, forgets to spit out his toothpaste because of the way his heart is beating double time.

then it’s a whole red bag filled with clothes in the corner of jihoon’s bedroom of white wood floor, white wood dresser, white down comforter when they’ve been dating for a year. he drops it with a thud.

“i’m keeping this here,” he says, and that’s that.

soon, he has more than a toothbrush, deodorant, and clothes scattered around jihoon’s apartment. it’s a basket full of fruit--mainly apples--that he keeps well stocked for breakfast when they’ve been dating a year and five months. it’s strands of his newly dyed red hair all overjihoon’s white couch, white pillows, white blanket when they’ve been dating for one year and eight months. it’s woojin when he wakes up, when he gets ready for work, when he gets home from work, when he eats dinner, when he goes to sleep smiling across from him.

“hey,” woojin says one night. “my lease is up at the end of this month.”

“do you want to renew it?” jihoon asks.

“fuck no,” he answers. “i want to live with you.”

“then live with me.”

woojin leans over, presses his lips to jihoon’s. “fine, i will.” he rolls on top of jihoon to turn out the light, kisses him one more time, but doesn’t say the words that jihoon knows he’s thinking. so he slings an arm around his waist and kisses him back so woojin knows the words that jihoon isn’t saying, either.

it’s a slice of red velvet cake from the local bakery to celebrate their two year anniversary. they use one fork and take turns between each other.

“i’m going to propose to you,” woojin says between bites.

jihoon chuckles. “then propose.”

“marry me, park jihoon.”

 

❀


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jihoon and woojin are two members of the first colony to ever live on the red planet (prompt from [@anyounghasewoon](http://twitter.com/anyounghasewoon))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 313 words

"am i dead yet?" are the first words that float from the shuttle into the ears of the docking crew already stationed on the planet.

"shut up and get out of the way already! you weren't even feeling sick on the trip, you dramatic cockroach."

"what did you call me-" an enraged head of dyed brown hair finally pops out of the hatch, followed by a lean body loaded down with what seems to be a tent bag. he stops his near-tirade, face abruptly draining of emotion, once he sees the gimlet eyes of the crew. "hi." there's an aborted attempt to wave a hand at them, but this is waylaid by another young man shoving his way out of the cramped shuttle, prodding insistently at the first to go down the steps so other people can exit.

"be careful with that equipment! it's delicate!" he shouts as the other stumbles on the last step.

"i'm not damaging your damn equipment, jihoon."

the two assemble in front of the dock officer ("do you think it's that guy?" "he's the most official-looking person on the bay. maybe?"). the young man to first alight is further prodded to speak as the second keeps an eye out on the other people unloading more ("delicate! that's delicate! consider a year's wage forfeit if you break a single part!") equipment.

"sci-science officers park woojin and park jihoon reporting for duty, sir!" park woojin stutters out, bearing the bemused-turned-amused expression on the dock officer's face with dignity. or resignation.

"we are to head straight to greenhouse 1, as per our chief's orders, sir," says park jihoon.

the dock officer nods, surveying the quick work of loading the equipment to the waiting hovercraft. "i'll personally escort you there." with the stiff smile of someone who hasn't seen a new face in three years, he greets them, "welcome to mars."

 

❀


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woojin decides to donate blood and jihoon is the volunteer who draws it from him (prompt from [@slackeuse](http://twitter.com/slackeuse))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 826 words

Are you feeling healthy and well today?

Well, beads of sweat collect on his brow, his leg cannot stop twitching, and his heart is most likely beating faster than a mouse’s. This last condition somehow seems beneficial for whole blood donation though, so Woojin checks the yes box with a shaky hand.

Have you read the education materials today?

About that… Woojin did read the materials, a ringed packet of 5 or so heavy laminated sheets detailing medical conditions and diseases he’s never heard of, but it might as well have been in arabic for all he retained from it. He checks the yes box.

Have you been in juvenile detention, lockup, jail, or prison for more than 72 consecutive hours?

Only 28 hours, suckers. He checks no on the last box of the Donor History Questionnaire with nostalgic little grin before signing and dating the bottom and shaking out the sheet with a surprisingly loud noise. Cool. After handing the questionnaire to the portly old woman at the front desk with a smile she doesn’t return, he’s directed silently to one of three collapsible cubicles to get his thumb pricked and tested for iron level.

Woojin isn’t afraid of blood, but needles? Perhaps a bit (perhaps a bit more than a bit) but he’s steadfastly committed to his good deed of the day. What better way to score some sweet karma points than actually giving away the thing that keeps him alive? With a polite bow to the gatekeeper of the bloody needles he gathers his things and walks quickly across the large but low-ceilinged room rented out for the blood drive, eventually slipping into the testing cubicle.

“Thanks for coming in to donate blood today, just half an hour of your time can save up to three lives.” His assigned blood tech mutters, the rote memorization of the line clear from his monotony. He’s clicking through something on his scientific laptop but his eyes flash towards Woojin once he sits down. “Right or left?”

Right or… wow. Wow. This phlebotomist is uncommonly beautiful, with center-parted dark silver hair and delicate gold round-framed glasses resting low on his nose as though they were reading glasses. He looks like a fake doctor.

Silently, Woojin raises his right arm and the blood tech--Park Jihoon, the nametag on the pocket of his white lab coat reveals--snatches his wrist, tugging it forward with a professional firmness and singling out his pointer finger.

“It’s just a prick.” Jihoon says, smiling sneakily at him. “Don’t be nervous.”

Woojin isn’t nervous about giving blood anymore--his heart is beating for an entirely different reason now. Lost in thoughts of how soft his hair might and how good he looks in his lab coat, Woojin wouldn’t have noticed the prick if not for the fact that Jihoon narrated it, literally saying “prick!” when he did it. He quickly scoops up the blood pooling from Woojin’s finger and holds a small square dressing onto the wound that Woojin holds before Jihoon can quickly (and a bit sloppily) wrap a bandage around it.

When the iron count returns as a safe level for donation, Jihoon smiles widely and stands up, motion Woojin to do the same. “This your first time giving blood?”

“Y-yes.” Woojin mutters, inwardly pleased when both of their standing reveals that Jihoon is, well, small. Cute.

“Well, full transparency: it’s going to be cold and uncomfortable. But you will get snacks at the end.” He says as they reach one of the unoccupied medical chairs and slaps the seat welcomingly for him. “Plop on up here and let’s stick a straw in you.”

Fucking hell, when he puts it like that it manages to sound more absurd and oddly less terrifying. Woojin finds himself wanting to impress this Park Jihoon so he follows all his further instructions as perfectly as possible.

Until, of course, Needle Time.

“Oh fuck, okay so w-wait--” All ‘coolness’ gone, Woojin leans as far back in his chair from Jihoon, with a beautiful closed-eyed smile on his face and big ass needle in this hand.

“If it helps, we really need A-type…” Jihoon pouts.

It’s a mighty pout, because Woojin immediately gives in, covering his eyes with his free hand with a shaky sigh. “Okay just… just do it.”

“Think of the science, Woojin.” Jihoon cooes softly by his ear, pressing and prodding at the large median cubital vein in the crook of his elbow. “Think of the snacks.”

A prick, this one intrusive and in his vein and it stays there, he can feel the tube resting on his forearm, can feel Jihoon press clear tape over the needle to hold it in place.

“If the snack isn’t you, I’m never donating again.” Eyes still closed. He feels Jihoon’s laugh over his neck.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we. I get off in an hour.”

Blood karma might be the best of all.

 

❀


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon doesn’t know crap about farming, but he won’t turn down the strawberry farm inheritance for anything. Going down to the countryside, he’s met with green fields dotted with red and a young man with a half day’s worth of sweat clinging to him (prompt from [@2porkhoon](http://twitter.com/2porkhoon))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 1257 words

_It'll be fun_ , they told him. _You'll learn so much_ , they insisted. _It's what you're meant to do_ , they assured him.  
  
_You won't regret it_ , they promised.  
  
Well.  
  
Jihoon has a handful of regrets. For one, it's mind-numbingly cold where he's stranded at a bus stop in _Sancheong-gu_ , suitcase wheels broken and, subsequently, suitcase heavy in his—he'll admit it only because he's in pain and he knows he'll be in even more pain tomorrow—noodle arms. It'd be lighter, Jihoon thinks, if he didn't have it chock full of souvenirs from the big city for relatives he barely remembers the faces of.  
  
The streets are hauntingly quiet, which isn't anything surprising when it comes to the country-side. He's never been a big fan of the hustle and bustle of Seoul anyway; it's just that, well, the peace and quiet would be a lot cooler if he wasn't experiencing frostbite in the middle of nowhere.  
  
His journey to inherit his grandfather's strawberry farm is a long and strenuous one right from the get-go. And even after he's been forced to sit through a neighborhood auntie's long tale about her daughter in Busan and her six grandchildren and the stock prices these days—not that she buys stocks but because she got a new television last week and the news comes in without any feedback or static now—and the Complete and Unabridged History of this neighborhood, _just_ to ask which bus he's supposed to take, Jihoon finds that his day isn't going to get any easier. Not even after he's finally made it to the place he's supposed to call home for the next few months.  
  
It's not the house that's the issue. Not the relatives that swarm him in droves. Not the intimidating number of vinyl greenhouses he's technically responsible for.  
  
It's not any of those things.  
  
“So, are you just going to stare or are you going to pull your weight around here?”  
  
Right.  
  
It's actually the mildly offensive asshole that he has most definitely not seen in family albums or through blurry KakaoTalk video chats currently hunched over a row of strawberries that convinces Jihoon that this whole 'inheritance thing' he's been encouraged to embrace is actually a giant cover-up for _Pain in the Ass_.  
  
“Uh,” Jihoon manages. He clears his throat and tries to look authoritative and pissed, but mostly pissed. “This is my strawberry field? Technically? You're trespassing. And bossing me, the _boss_ , around.”  
  
The guy, who is somehow drenched in sweat despite being inside of a still moderately drafty greenhouse in the middle of an unforgiving Sancheong winter, doesn't even flinch. Belatedly, Jihoon realizes that the stranger's definitely been working for quite some time now; the spots of red are still plentiful, but the greenhouse is pretty huge and there are a ton of baskets filled with the fruit that this dude's probably picked alone.  
  
He has a vague recollection of doing strawberry-picking races with an old childhood friend and losing. Every single time. Jihoon figures that this is as good a warning as any to not challenge this person to a duel of honor when he'll probably lose spectacularly.  
  
“You're so green it hurts,” the guy says with a roll of his eyes. “Jihoon, right?”  
  
“Right,” Jihoon replies too quickly. “I mean— _green_? No, wait, who the hell are you?”  
  
He doesn't get a response. Not immediately. The dude wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. He drags his palm down the leg of his pants as though to rid it of accumulated dirt. The stranger takes a few steps forward, still frustratingly unaffected by the entire scenario at hand as he extends his arm.  
  
“Woojin,” comes the response. “Park Woojin. Nice to meet you, _boss_.”  
  
Grandfather in Heaven would probably smite Jihoon's ungrateful ass if he didn't accept the handshake. He doesn't want to because the smirk on _Woojin_ 's face is uninviting, frankly, and Jihoon would much prefer punching it off.  
  
He grips Woojin's hand. Noticeably begrudging. “You too.”  
  
“Chill out,” Woojin says, gentler, when he notices the telling frown on Jihoon's face. “I'm not particularly thrilled that the old man passed off his farm to someone like you, but I'd like to see this place run for a long, long time.”  
  
“I would too,” Jihoon retorts. “I didn't—I wouldn't _take_ this place if I didn't have some determination to take care of it properly, you know?” He knows Woojin isn't the only skeptical one around but Jihoon did come with some resolve, with some—perhaps overly optimistic—resolution to prove himself, to do something monumental with his own strength and willpower. “And it kind of sucks when your first day on the new job is spent lost in the bitter cold of the countryside, made worse by some asshole that looks at you like you're a child that's spilled his food everywhere.”  
  
“I'm the asshole, huh.”  
  
“Lips are sealed,” replies Jihoon with a shrug. “But yes, you're the asshole.”  
  
“I get that a lot,” Woojin confesses with a faint smile. He looks almost sheepish and Jihoon blinks, wonders how someone can go from rough-around-the-edges to ridiculously-soft in a matter of seconds. “I'm not great at first impressions. I'm probably not going to be great at second or third ones either. But like I said, I care about this farm, I cared about your grandfather, and if you'll forgive me for acknowledging that your first few weeks are going to be hell, I'd like to care about you.”  
  
Jihoon raises a brow. “That sounds like a confession.”  
  
He's joking, but the red on Woojin's cheeks that follows is almost as red as the strawberries scattered around them.  
  
“Shut up,” Woojin grits out. “I'm trying to be friendly here.”  
  
That drags a smile onto Jihoon's face. “You're like a teddy bear,” he says. “A beat-up one that I wish I could get replaced, but a teddy bear nonetheless.”  
  
Woojin rolls his eyes for the nth time. “I take it back. I don't want anything to do with you.” He turns, makes like he's about to get back to work.  
  
Jihoon doesn't know what possesses him but he follows—trails behind Woojin and nearly catapults himself onto his back before stopping, taking only a second to wonder why it's taken so little time for him to ease into familiarity with Woojin. He squats beside him and picks up a stray basket instead.  
  
“So, show me the ropes.” Jihoon rolls his sleeves up. “The last time I picked strawberries was when I was ten-years-old and much cuter and harder to scold for being careless.”  
  
Woojin laughs from beside him before reaching a palm out to cup a strawberry. “Ten,” he echoes. “It's really been that long?”  
  
“Been that long?” echoes Jihoon.  
  
“You're as big of a jerk as you are a newbie at this,” Woojin sighs out. He doesn't turn to look at Jihoon and there's a faint red creeping up his neck now, too, to match the one that still lingers on his cheeks. “You remember racing someone when you were young? To see how many baskets you could fill up at the end of an hour?”  
  
Jihoon frowns. “Yeah?”  
  
“Remember skipping rocks at the ocean? Dropping a giant watermelon from the market and spilling it everywhere? Getting in trouble by your grandma but lying and saying it was all your fault so your friend wouldn't get his ass smacked too?” Woojin smiles, faintly, and Jihoon's heart skips a beat. “Welcome back, Jihoon. It's good to see you.”

 

❀


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> his lips are painted red, but not with what you'd expect (prompt from [@sailorjihoons](http://twitter.com/sailorjihoons))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 332 words

woojin likes watching jihoon’s lips when he speaks. because they’re pretty. because they’re either chapped and red or they’re glossed and glistening. because he wants to feel them on his own lips. because he wants to kiss them.

“you’re not listening to me,” jihoon says, and so woojin lifts his gaze to his eyes. but jihoon is taking another bite and it’s so distracting.

“you know what you’re doing,” woojin says.

“i’m eating.”

“but--”

“and trying to talk about--you know--us.” then, because now woojin realizes he’s blushing, too, and god he’s so beautiful when he’s flustered as fuck, he adds, “and shit.”

“and shit,” woojin repeats.

jihoon rolls his eyes. “i mean you doing this and me doing this and us doing this but not talking about it ever thing. that thing. i’m trying to talk about it.” he takes another bite and his lips are painted red again and woojin hates that jihoon expects him to talk right now. or even think about anything other than kissing the fuck out of him.

woojin swallows. “then talk.”

“i’m not going to do all the talking.”

“you’re going to have to stop distracting me then.”

“what’s distracting you?”

“you. you eating.”

“the strawberries? they’re just strawberries.”

“but when you eat them--there’s just--it’s.” woojin stops as jihoon takes another bite. he has to fight his urge to lean over, lick his red-tinted lips, chase the strawberry into his mouth with his tongue. “it makes it hard to think about anything other than your stupid lips.”

he takes another bite, finishing all but the stem. “i like you, woojin. i want to make it hard for you to think about anything other than me. i want you to only think about me.”

“i do. i already do.”

“i need to know what that means, though.” now he’s offering a strawberry to woojin, and now it’s his eyes following the red berry to woojin’s lips, watching as he takes it into his mouth, takes a bite.

“i think it means i like you, too,” he says as he chews, then leans over and does what he’d wanted to do to jihoon, what jihoon now wants to do to him. 

 

❀


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he woke up in a room he swears he’s never seen before. splashes of an unknown liquid coloured the walls, but what really scared him was that his hands were covered in red (prompt from [@winkroe](http://twitter.com/winkroe))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 486 words

the room was red when jihoon bought the house, as if the previous owner had found humor in morbidly splashing red paint in that specific room. it was an old gothic house, taller than it was wide, refurbished and repainted to hide the fact that the price being asked was absurdly low.

jihoon hadn’t been raised a fool. he wheedled and threatened until the ugly history of the house spilled from the agent’s mouth. the murder of an unknown boy in the smallest bedroom.

the agent’s shaking eyes slid to the upstairs landing before darting back to jihoon. “it was a nightmare when the photos came out. the blood was—everywhere. there was so much. you wouldn’t think all of it could’ve come from one person… the police never found out who he was, or who killed him.”

jihoon stilled at the information. “of course they didn’t,” he muttered with scorn and waved away the agent’s surprise. the business of the house was quickly completed and the agent hustled out with a request for directions to the hardware store. at the inquiring glance, he explained glibly, “the red bedroom needs to be repainted. mom would drop dead if she ever saw it.”

for a moment, it seemed like the agent had more to say, but he visibly bit it back and murmured the directions along with a hesitant, “good luck.”

jihoon arrived the next day, a sleeping bag and cans of primer and paint in the boot of his car. by the time he took a break for a cold store-bought dinner, the walls were an inoffensive mint. he dropped the roller and retired to the master bedroom, deciding that he’d done enough and the second coat of paint can wait until tomorrow.

-

_he woke to red walls, lit aglow in intervals from behind him. the pounding in his head grew more unbearable with each flash of light, but jihoon squinted through it to the unfamiliar room before him._

_where was he? he’d tucked his sister in before going to sleep in his own bed, but this room isn’t his or his sister’s , not even his parents’. he curled his fingers on the drenched bedspread for purchase but there was a heaviness in his limbs he couldn’t account for. and the pervading scent of metal._

_through the growing haziness, he felt a freezing wisp of air against his ear. “wake up.”_

-

jihoon snapped back to consciousness, the sunlit ochre of the new house’s master bedroom warming his eyes. his—lighter—hand came up to grasp his chest as he struggled to control his breathing. he’d had a dream about… a sister? he didn’t have one. and red walls.

clearing his thoughts, he notices a presence standing on the bed next to him. deep brown eyes and dark hair on a familiar tanned face. jihoon felt faint. “woo… wooji—”

“you shouldn’t be here.”

 

❀


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woojin is shot and red paints all over his chest, he says a few last words before jihoon fiercely smacks him because who the heck dies while playing with water guns (prompt by [@winksaes](http://twitter.com/winksaes))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 704 words  
> — author apology: lol my bad your water guns are now paintball guns

Shots drift through the forest in a diagonal arc but Woojin manages to avoid the deadly stream by tucking his body neatly behind a nearby clump of birch trees, almost willing to risk a small laugh as the shots hit the bark with quick slaps. His heart beats in time with another volley, this one threatening to tear through his arboreal defenses. Woojin hugs his semi-automatic rifle to his chest, waiting for any brief hesitation on their part-- _they got Jaehwan, fucking straight in the neck. Daniel was kneecapped, probably dead now too. They nailed Jinyoung and, my god, what they did to Daehwi…_

They’re losing, badly. A fight for survival, for supremacy--Woojin really did believe they stood a chance here, even if they were up against some of the most lethal adversaries he can think of. Jihoon is one thing--they all knew he was a killer--but no one expected Seongwoo to be that formidable, dual-wielding rifles with an accuracy rating Woojin has only ever seen reached in video games.

The hesitation finally comes and Woojin takes advantage of the momentary cease in cover fire to dart away from his birch thicket and tear noisily through the forest underbrush. He zig-zags widely through the trees, gritting his teeth so tightly he can taste a bit of blood in his mouth. Random fire tears up the forest, a shot coming within a hand's width of his head once or twice but Woojin persists on, knowing their HQ is closer than it is far.

 _Just get there, just reach their base. If we’re all going to die here, I’m going down as the the one who got closest_ \--Woojin leaps out from behind a particularly large juniper bush and sees Jihoon, wild-eyed and lethal, a mere three meters ahead of him.

_Ah. I die here._

He’s not sure how many hits he takes but feels each and every one strike his chest. The sheer power of the volley causes his leaping body to twist in mid-air, and Woojin spirals to the ground with a wild cry of pain and distress. His chest hits the uneven forest floor with a dreadful thump, forcing his rifle into his solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him.

Jihoon laughs, quietly at first then slowly builds in volume (and evil) as he watches Woojin roll to the ground at his feet. Dying with his face in the dirt and fallen pine needles, Woojin can hear the crunch of Jihoon’s footfalls as he approaches. Finally at his side, Jihoon uses his foot to turn Woojin onto his back.

His entire chest is bloody crimson, the color still spreading over his camouflage hoodie even as Jihoon watches. The same chest still rises and falls but it’s labored, dying.

“Of course… it had to be _you_.” Woojin wheezes, running a hand up his chest and raising his red palm for Jihoon to see. “You’re the only…”

“What?” Jihoon cooes, resting a heavy boot on his chest as he leers down at him.

“You’re the only person I would give my life for.” Woojin clenches his bloody fist. “And the only one I can allow to take it. My enemy. My lover...

Jihoon raises his eyebrows but Woojin perists with the very last of his life. “My deathdealer.”

And so he dies, his final breath leaving his lungs in a chill rattle.

…

“You’re a fucking loser. This is paintball, not Game of Thrones.” Jihoon drawls, removing his boot from Woojin’s chest, but his boyfriend miraculously returns to life and grabs his thigh in both hands. “W-what--”

Through a surprisingly sexy and ultimately physically baffling maneuvers, Woojin half-leads, half-manhandles Jihoon to the ground with him, at first with yells but eventually with shrieks and giggles that come from both of them. Eventually Woojin lets Jihoon pin him, knees hugging Woojin’s waist and pressing him down with his small hands.

He’s panting, red faced, smudged smudged here and there with the red paint he used to shoot Woojin.

Woojin smirks. “Didn’t know you were into dead guys. Trying to get a little dirty with a corpse?”  
  
“Fuck you, and yeah, maybe.” Jihoon laughs, leaning down to meet Woojin’s ‘dead’ lips. 

 

❀


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon’s phone battery icon turns red and he really needs to charge it ASAP when a stranger kindly offers his charger (prompt by [@ricegrainfairy](http://twitter.com/ricegrainfairy))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 826 words

Okay. So. Arguably, there are worse things that could happen. For example, there could be a four-car collision before his very eyes. Polar bears, as a species, could become extinct in his lifetime. The polar ice caps might melt in their entirety and flood the city of Seoul, or something.

It's just, well, in this exact moment? Very little could be worse than his phone battery blinking red and _angry_ at him. When he is supposed to be expecting a call back for a job interview that could Make or Break his entire life in the next ten minutes.

Jihoon looks around him and finds that, on the bright side, there are a lot of people in this café that a.) probably have phone chargers compatible with his phone and b.) Might Be Generous Enough to lend him said phone charger for a solid five minutes.

He closes his eyes and paces in one circle before freezing, opening his eyes, and marching right up to the first person he sees: a guy balancing an iced Americano, a phone, and a giant packet of important-looking papers in one hand while he fumbles with the napkin dispenser with the other.

“Excuse me,” Jihoon says too loudly, maybe, because the dude sort of jumps, looks vaguely startled. “Sorry to bother you but do you have an iPhone charger? And could I borrow it for five minutes? I know it's probably strange to be approached by someone you don't know when you're just trying to drink your coffee and enjoy your life, but, uh, I would really appreciate it if you lent me a charger. My phone battery is in the red, probably going to die in the next ten seconds, and if it does and I miss the most important phone call of my very short but meaningful life, I might also die and it'd just, uh, it'd really suck to die in a coffee shop next to an equally dead phone, you know? Maybe—”

“Yes,” the guy interrupts. “You can borrow my iPhone charger. Please—please stop talking at me.”

Jihoon could cry out of sheer gratitude but he doesn't. He lets the stranger lead him to a table in the far-back corner of the café, watches patiently as he procures a Beautiful iPhone charger from a worn-out backpack, and even willingly seats himself across from said stranger so the guy _knows_ that Jihoon won't run away from it.

(And also because the table is conveniently next to an outlet.)

“Must be a really important phone call,” the guy mutters. “Big news?”

“Job interview,” Jihoon says with a faint, weary laugh. “Been couch-surfing and my friend's pretty tired of me bumming off of him so... this could be the first big step.”

“Ah,” comes the response. “I'll cross my fingers for good news then. Where'd you apply?”

The guy seems nice enough, a little withdrawn and a little stiff, but friendly—and genuine with his questions.

“Just a dance studio down the street,” Jihoon explains. “Thought it might be fun. Maybe I could start off doing administrative work and then, uh, I don't know? Branch into actually... actually participating or something. Sorry, I'm talking too much. I'm Jihoon, by the way. Thanks for lending me your charger.”

He gets a pensive _hm_ before he gets anything else. “I'm Woojin. It's my pleasure. Anyway, I have to make a quick call, but I'll be right back, yeah? You can keep using my charger if you don't mind watching my stuff.”

“Oh, no, I don't mind,” Jihoon replies quickly. “Take your time.”

Woojin gets up and disappears from sight within a few seconds and Jihoon sinks into his seat and holds his phone up in front of his face, blearily regarding his reflection.

The e-mail said he'd get a call at any time between one and one-thirty in the afternoon if he was eligible for an interview. He's afraid to look at the time but he already knows that in a matter of minutes it'll be one-thirty-one, and he'll be back to where he started.

That is, in the worst-case scenario, which doesn't appear to be the case _today_. There's an unfamiliar phone number blinking at him, insistent and promising.

He feels his heart jump, finger nearly rejecting the call before he (thankfully) accepts it, pressing his phone to his ear in spite of the tug of the too-short charger cable.

“Hello?” Jihoon stammers. “This is Park Jihoon speaking.”

“Hey, Jihoon,” says a strangely familiar voice. “Congratulations. This is Woojin from the JUST DANCE Academy, and I'm calling to let you know that we'd like to have you in for an interview—”

Jihoon blinks, turning in his chair to catch a glimpse of _none other_ than Woojin, on the phone, big grin on his face as he taps the receiver.

“Could be too soon to tell,” Woojin continues, “but it looks like this might be meant to be.”

 

❀


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woojin's always had a fascination for the red lip tint jihoon uses when his lips get chapped (prompt from [@winking_baby](http://twitter.com/winking_baby))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 480 words

woojin breaks one day by accident. maybe it’s because he started rooming alone with jihoon. maybe it’s because jihoon has been looking particularly amazing recently.

okay, he always looks amazing, but he’s been looking some kind of ethereal. some next level shit.

it’s when they’re on the flight to dallas for their layover to chile. it’s a long fucking time to sit next to jihoon. the longest time he’s ever sat next to him. for the first few hours, they just play games but it gets boring and their legs start itching to walk around when they really can’t. they try sleeping, build a little blanket fort against the sun so it’s just jihoon and woojin centimeters away from each other.

these are the moments, the quiet hidden ones spent just between the two of them, when jihoon is the most beautiful. there’s no mask. there’s no guard. there’s no caution. there’s no way woojin couldn’t say something.

“are you okay?” he whispers.

jihoon blinks, that one where it’s a little too hard and a little too long. he takes a little breath. “yeah? i think so. i think so, yeah.” he swallows, nods his head a little, digs into his pocket to put on his lip tint.

“you did nothing wrong,” woojin says as he watches the color darken jihoon’s chapped lips. “and the fans know that. they’re on our side. and the public will forget.”

“i know,” jihoon says. he smiles, a soft gentle one that’s meant for woojin and woojin only. this is the precise second that woojin breaks. “that’s why i said i’m fine. i don’t lie to you.”

the break happens like this. woojin has watched jihoon put on that lip tint too many times. he’s thought about how good it looks too many times. he’s wanted to kiss him after he’s applied it too many times. and now jihoon is smiling like this, smiling at him, smiling for him, and something catches in his chest and and he’s leaning forward and there’s not a lot of distance between them already so there’s not enough time for woojin to realize this is a fucking bad idea but then their lips are pressed together.

they lips touch only for a second before they’re both pulling away, but they don’t really pull away. they kiss again, and this time their mouths open against each other, too, and their tongues meet, too, and then they’re kissing like they mean it.

they only stop when woojin feels jinyoung bump into his arm on his other side. they both still and wait to see if maybe jinyoung just did it in his sleep. when it seems they’re in the clear, their eyes meet.

“sorry--i just--” woojin isn’t sure how to get himself out of just confessing that he’s stupidly in love with jihoon.

“don’t apologize. kiss me again.”

❀


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soulmate au where they all wear a black string bracelet that turns red when you meet your soulmate (prompt from [@nineliners](http://twitter.com/nineliners))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 424 words

Woojin’s bracelet turns red and he stops breathing. “This… what does this mean?” he gasps, the words too heavy in his chest. He looks at his soulmate, who is studying his own bracelet. It remains black despite the seconds that flitter away, too fast and too slow at once. It’s the same black that had seemed so permanent it taunted Woojin for years.

And yet— “I’m not surprised.” The person, his soulmate, chuckles at the slim band around his wrist. He spares Woojin a brief glance, notes the bewildered expression that must’ve taken over his face, and turns apologetic. “It’s not a one-to-one thing, you know, and it’s not always reciprocal either.”

“I know that much!” Woojin snaps, covering the red bracelet that suddenly appears to be a symbol of his naivety. “I just, I hoped…”

His soulmate gives him a sad little smile. “I did too, once,” he shares. “It happened exactly like this. I didn’t understand how she must’ve felt back then, but I guess I do now. And I know how you feel too.” His speech subsides and he turns away; the silence stretches a little too long for Woojin’s liking.

Woojin doesn’t know what to say. He stares at his soulmate’s pretty-ish face, the disappointment and guilt laid open. It’s not a look that suits him. “I… wasn’t really expecting it to work out anyway,” he mutters, following the other’s gaze to the window. “It rarely does. But there was still a part of me, when the doctors said there was a probability of a match that…” Woojin huffs out a breath and focuses on the bright blue of the sky. It’s more cheerful than he feels, but he feels something in him unclench, little by little.

“Do you, um—”

Woojin is drawn back by the words and finds himself trapped by sparkle of sunlight trapped in the other’s eyes. He watches him take a deep breath and ask, “Do you think we can still have… something? Can we be friends?”

When Woojin doesn’t answer, his surprise (by the— by everything, really) getting the better of him, the other boy fidgets and color rises to his cheeks. “Sorry, I know it’s too much to ask, especially with how I was earlier—”

“No, it’s,” Woojin pauses. He pushes down the rising uncertainty and lets his hands fall to his lap. “I… still don’t know your name,” he says lamely.

“Park Jihoon.” His soul— Jihoon holds out a hand to Woojin. “I think we should’ve started off with that, honestly.”

 

❀


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the red of the end of a cigarette burning (prompt from [@slackeuse](http://twitter.com/slackeuse))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 442 words

Woojin laughs brightly once he finally finds a proper nook to escape to. It’s a very big house party in a pretty small house, and what acquaintances that brought him here have been slowly drifting away to their own established social circles, among none of which Woojin really belongs.

His only contact here is the host, Daniel, who is off catering to too many people at once. Woojin knew this would happen, but he did imagine that him actually getting off his lazy ass and coming to Daniel’s party would earn him something more than a brief, shouted “Woojin-ah!” over a large crowd. That’s been his only interaction so far tonight.

Uncomfortable and bored, Woojin gravitated up to the second floor of Daniel’s apartment and eventually out to the balcony. There’s peace here, only one person out on the balcony, leaning on the shoddy wooden railing with a cigarette in hand. The tip of the cigarette burns red, glowing brighter with each breath he takes.

“Can I bum?” Woojin asks, surprising himself, keeping an eye on his eyes as he draws another deep drag. His face illuminated with glow, enough for Woojin to glimpse deep, pretty eyes and messy bangs.

“Sure,” He mutters after his long pull, procuring one from behind his ear with the charisma and grace of a magician.

Woojin has to come much closer in order to get it, but he does, driven both by his own social anxiety and the fact that this dude is kind of cute. He brings it to his lips before realizing what he’s missing.

“Can I get a light?” Woojin asks, raising an eyebrow.

The man seems to consider this for a moment, which is rather absurd because he has been flipping a cheap plastic lighter around in his hand this entire time. “Sure,” He chirps, pushing himself off the railing and strolling languidly over to him.

As he approaches Woojin gets a real glimpse of pretty lips and a sharp jaw. He’s both both pretty and tough, clearly cute enough to kick his ass.

Instead of using a lighter--which would be normal and proper and by all means, less effort--he motions Woojin closer, and brings the end of his own lit cigarette right up to the one hanging from his Woojin’s lips. Oh, that kind of light.

They both draw in a deep, slow breath until the end of Woojin’s glow a bright, bright red. Once the fire is caught they both pull away but he makes no move to return to where he was before.

“Jihoon.” He introduces quietly, taking a drag before making eye contact.

“Woojin.” He returns.

❀


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working the graveyard shift at the campus mini-mart is pretty much the most boring part-time job in existence. The only highlight of Woojin’s night is the cute boy in the red hoodie who swings by at 2am like clockwork to buy an armful of junk food (prompt from [@chansonettes](http://twitter.com/chansonettes))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 898 words

From one to six in the morning, Woojin shuffles into his shift at the GS 25 in the SK Global dormitory and begins a countdown.

One minutes into his shift and Woojin starts making tallies, waiting to reach _three-hundred_ so he can go home, crawl into bed, and think about how graveyard shifts were probably once utilized as a form of cruel and unusual punishment.

Things could be worse. Sure, he has to deal with all of the drunk students that crawl in after a long and exhausting night bar- and club-hopping in Hongdae and Gangnam in hot pursuit of drunchies, and yeah, the security officer always comes in after his shift to try and beguile warm canned coffee out of Woojin in spite of how many times he's said _MY BOSS WILL KILL ME._

But at two in the morning, good tidings in the form of a frazzled but unfairly cute guy in a giant red hoodie always greets Woojin like an old friend. And for ten minutes—the time it takes for the guy to gather up an impossible number of snacks in his arms despite the baskets available at the door—Woojin gets to put on his customer service smile and mentally keep track of the different ways the stranger says, _Thank you._

Today, it's three am and no bundle of joy or respite has stumbled into Woojin's corporate prison. He's not trying to be dramatic considering he doesn't know anything about this guy except for the fact that he wears glasses, has a penchant for red hoodies, and seems to favor _Home Run Balls_ over _Kancho_ but his entire night might as well be shit.

Which is stupid. He's spent the past semester trying to muster up the courage to ask for a name, to ask how he's doing, to ask if he's a student, to whip out his beat-up credit card and buy Mystery Boy in Red his snacks for the night. None of which he's accomplished and it's already almost December.

Woojin sighs. He buries his hands into his arms and rubs insistently, thinking about the stupid Disney movies that made him believe that true love was born out of unexpected encounters.

He drops his hands and when light begins to filter into his stream of vision in spots, Woojin does not expect to see, after the initial blur has faded, Mystery Boy in Red in—to everyone (to Woojin)'s surprise—a baby pink hoodie.

“Um,” the boy says, loudly and purposefully. He looks nervous, looks _terrified_ , actually, and Woojin is scared that he's going to be cleaning up someone's throw-up in the hallway or something. “I, I noticed that you always look really cold? Uh, not that I'm staring at you or anything but, um, it's pretty drafty in here—and, uh, the door that goes outside is right next to the store and... Whenever I catch a glimpse of you, you're always hugging your arms so.. uh...”

Woojin isn't sure what to expect but it's definitely not a red hoodie, folded up neatly, being pushed across the counter in his direction.

“It's really warm!” the Established Love of Woojin's Life blurts out. “Sorry, this is weird of me. I just, uh, I kept telling myself I probably shouldn't? And before I knew it, it was really late and I figured I might as well because... because... God, you must think I'm the biggest idiot.”

He wants to say _no, you're not_ , but the words jumble in his mind and Woojin can only manage a stuttered, “Same.” He grimaces internally and grits his teeth. “I mean—thanks. Thank you. This is really, uh, really nice of you? And I'll... I'll wear it gratefully. It _does_ get really cold in here and I always leave my shit in the backroom.”

The relief that floods the guy's face makes Woojin's heart bloom five-thousand times. “Great,” he says with a wide smile. “I'm Jihoon, by the way. I live in this building and I don't know if you've noticed me—”

Woojin almost laughs.

“—but I always come by around two to grab snacks. My roommate sleeps really early, and the study rooms are so quiet and empty past midnight that I guess I end up stress-eating my way out of insanity.”

“You could study here,” Woojin blurts out. “I mean—you could study here if you wanted? I don't think my boss would mind and, uh, I don't know. I... wouldn't mind either?”

Jihoon looks at Woojin with a mix of awe and gratitude. “Could I?” he asks. “Yeah, that'd be awesome. I've been meaning to ask you for your number since the second week of the semester, so this would definitely be progre—” He freezes. “Did I just.”

His heart explodes this time and Woojin thinks, very acutely, that Disney could never top the flowers and hearts emanating from Woojin's body right this second.

“I'm Woojin,” he says, first and foremost, lips curving upward in spite of himself. “Are you going to grab any snacks? Maybe I could… I'll treat you today.”

 

❀


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woojin’s cheeks are always a bright red after he’s finished his training for the day. just one of few things that jihoon notices while supporting woojin as he prepares for the summer olympics (prompt from [@anyounghasewoon](http://twitter.com/anyounghasewoon))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 238 words  
> — author note: somehow summer olympics became winter olympics sorry

woojin is not your typical ice skater, but that’s why jihoon decided to be his coach.

jihoon is your typical skater. he started when he was young, became olympics ready when he was still in high school, and burned the fuck out after a few years and a few gold medals. of course he loved every moment of it, but he learned to recognize the difference between skating because he’s expected to and skating because he loves to.

he was going to do that whole slow fade out thing, but then he saw woojin practicing one day. woojin had been a hockey player in elementary school, middle school, high school. then for some reason he’d decided to step on the rink as a figure skater instead about a year ago. no one has told him why exactly he made the change.

so jihoon puts on his skates again, meets him in the middle of the ice. “you’re not an ice skater,” he says, making circles around him.

the face woojin makes tells jihoon exactly what he’s thinking. and yes, jihoon knows he’s being a dick. “thanks for your insight.” but a part of him looks hurt, too.

“but i like that,” jihoon says. he likes a lot of things about woojin. he’s aggressive on the ice. he’s passionate on the ice. he’s always bright red after he’s finished his training for the day. “let me be your coach.”

 

❀


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jihoon is dressed like little red riding hood and woojin is confused (prompt from [@05294DJ1](http://twitter.com/05294DJ1))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 233 words

“What the fu—” Any possible profanity that could’ve slipped out of Woojin’s lips is crammed back in by a well-timed slap courtesy of Daehwi. “Heumph!”

“Hyung, you can clearly see that there are kids around!” Daehwi grits out through the ever-friendly smile on his face, batting his eyelashes innocently at the parents supervising the preschool’s Halloween party. “ _Surely_ , you would never do anything to get us _in trouble_.”

Woojin nurses his cheek and jabs a finger at the offending sight. “And _that_ won’t get us in trouble? _Really_?” Across the room, Jihoon’s grin is bearing up rather bravely against what looked like teething baby werewolves gnawing on his limbs. The red-hooded cape and white dress are still immaculate. His leggings and the basket of baked goods he’d procured to complete the costume are not.

Jihoon’s head swings to their direction and his eyes, wide and scared, practically scream, _HELP ME._

“I don’t know. The parents seem to like it.” Daehwi tilts his head to the parents committee who are, indeed, watching everything with the pleased relief of those who have been bitten once too many and are happy to pass that pain to someone else. Someone not on their payroll, even.

 _That’s that_ , Woojin tries to relay to Jihoon by way of a shrug. “You’re on your own,” he mouths, rolling his eyes when Jihoon makes a slicing motion across his neck.

 

❀


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woojin wakes up in the middle of the night to someone banging on his front door... jihoon in a blood stained shirt... "it was an accident," jihoon says as tears stream down his face (prompt by [@_temptationg](http://twitter.com/_temptationg))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 233 words  
> — **⚠ tw:** char death, dark dark dark dark **⚠**

Woojin’s eyelids have barely fallen when he hears a quiet tapping on his door--soft at first, but eventually growing in both power and urgency. He jerks into a sitting position, silently throwing off his blankets as and hissing as his bare feet come into contact with the frozen floor. The only thing Woojin knows about the time is that it’s somewhere between midnight and dawn.

The knocking pauses, as though the person somehow heard that Woojin was getting up. They start slamming their palms against the door along with their fists. “P-please open the door. I can’t… I… Woojin, please.”

Woojin’s heart does a double front handspring aerial walkover and then promptly has a stroke and dies right there--Park fucking Jihoon’s voice is floating through his door. Park Jihoon who is supposed to be at some secret site undergoing the final stage of telepathy tolerance tests before they break him, break his mind and inject some new, chemically controlled directive in its place.

While Woojin’s own latent abilities have proved useful to Control (can’t really say no to pyrokinesis), he ultimately wasn’t deemed dangerous enough to break. Picked up at a young age, tempered by time and raised by Control, Woojin became one of _them_ early enough to avoid being forced into psychological rewiring. He’s part of the establishment, his ability called upon to incinerate bodies that shouldn’t be found or as supplemental firepower when they needed overkill.

Park Jihoon isn’t part of Control’s establishment, but he was far ( _far_ ) too dangerous to leave alone. Jihoon needed to be broken and remade--he was supposed to be, anyway. They were to test the true limits of Jihoon’s telepathic reach, and if he survived that ordeal they’d take his mind. If not, he’d be thrown into the queue of bodies for Woojin to cremate.

But he’s here, whimpering on the other side of his door.

Sensors in Woojin’s metal box of a room pick up on his movement and raise the lights slightly, dim at first but eventually staying at a medium level. Stumbling a bit, Woojin slams his palm against the control box scanner beside the metal door, his heartbeat picking up as the box beeps, lights switching from red to green as the heavy metal door slides open to the left.

It is Jihoon. He’s wearing a deep red shirt and wide pants that cut off mid-calf and it takes Woojin’s heart a single beat to determine that the shirt was originally white. In the silvery hallway light of his apartment building--owned by Control, but still technically removed enough from the regular campus that Woojin feels like he’s not completely their automaton--Jihoon’s normally golden skin is as pale as the moon.

“W-Woojin,” He sobs, and only now does Woojin see tear tracks running clean lines down his blood-stained face. “It… it was an accident. I didn’t…”

Honestly, Woojin has no idea what to do. “Jihoon, what…”

“I’m… I’m sorry, they were… they were reaching in, they were _inside_ a-and I…”

Jihoon’s powers are terrible. He doesn’t have to go through any elaborate process to kill people, he doesn’t even have to _move_. Instead, he (or _something_ ) slithers in through the shadows of the victim’s mind and convinces them that they should be dead. Then they simply do so, in whatever way the deem most expedient. It’s not Jihoon who kills them, it’s his darkness, the core of his ability that flows out of control when Jihoon is at his weakest.

The rest of the story pieces itself together from there. They pushed him too far for him to control his darkness, too far to extend what humanity could control the killer inside. He’s led a path of corpses straight to Woojin’s door. Without another thought Woojin pulls Jihoon into a hug and backs them both into his small room, closing the door with a swipe of his palm.

“Th-they--” Jihoon tries to speak, muffled by Woojin’s collarbone. Woojin just shushes him, settling his arms lower, underneath his ribs. “All of them. Everyone. It killed them all.”

“I got you.” Woojin lies, rocking Jihoon back and forth. He doesn’t want to lie, but he has to. The only way out of this is to keep killing, killing everyone who comes to call. Suddenly holding the smaller man at arms length, Woojin looks over the blood he knows is not Jihoon’s own, searching his dark eyes for a sign of the evil that must still linger.

Red flashes through his irises as Woojin feels the strangest tickle at the top of his spine, a presence that lives in seductive whisper: _Control will kill you once they know he’s here. They’re probably sending someone right now, someone that will draw it out all messy and cruel. Might as well…?_

“Okay.” Woojin agrees. He pulls Jihoon (scared and weeping and so not the pleasant voice in his head) in again for a deep, final hug, whispering into his hair as softly and sweetly. “You’re right.”

Woojin pulls away and moves to the center of the room, keeping a safe distance from Jihoon who doesn’t seem to know what’s happening, is raising an arm out to stop him. Silly, considering it was Jihoon who told him to. “Don’t worry, I might as well just…”

With a snap and a sincere smile, he bursts into his own flames.

 

❀


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woojin decides to dye his hair red again and Jihoon is eager to help (prompt from [@slackeuse](http://twitter.com/slackeuse))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 829 words

Two hours is plenty of time for a boatload of regrets and the culmination of bad decisions made worse to hit Jihoon like a freight train. It’s funny how rationality comes to him in tendrils, and almost always a little too late.

“You can probably stop—” Woojin trails off and Jihoon doesn’t even have to look at him to imagine the furrow between Woojin’s brows. “You can probably stop rubbing the dye into my hair now, right?”

Jihoon feels light-headed from smelling chemicals for way too long. He’s starting to  _ see _ red (literally) everywhere but in Woojin’s hair, where it’s supposed to be. His hands up to an inch or two beyond his wrists are stained with what might as well be the blood of Woojin’s hopes and dreams of reliving his  _ Get Ugly  _ days.

“Uh,” Jihoon says eloquently. “Yeah. Um. Sure. Right?”

“You said you knew how to do this.” Woojin looks up and Jihoon feigns concentration, lifting up a stray strand of Woojin’s hair to scrutinize it. “You said you were an  _ expert _ .”

They’ll probably die here together from inhaling hair dye fumes—but really only if Woojin doesn’t kill Jihoon for pretending to know how to make the most out of the cheapest boxed hair dye from Daiso just to spend some quality time with Woojin first.

Prognosis:  _ Grim _ .

Jihoon laughs. It comes out a little shaky, a little  _ nervous _ . Woojin should look the furthest thing from threatening when he’s seated on the toiler in his pajamas, hair damp and matted in all of the wrong places, splotches of red creeping onto his forehead. His eyes are narrowed suspiciously and Jihoon is probably going to go to hell because as sorry as he should be, he only feels endeared.

“It’s fine!” Jihoon chirrups. He pasts Woojin on the head reassuringly and because he knows Woojin can’t swat him away. “Trust me. Would I ever lead you astray?”

“Yes,” Woojin responds immediately. “Yeah, absolutely.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t forget who’s sacrificing their day off to try to make your dreams come true.” He isn’t really sure what the next step is and the box of dye is lost somewhere in the remnants of Jihoon’s carnage trail—stained white towels ( _ sorry, Minhyunnie hyung _ ) and discarded squares of blotted red toilet paper strewn everywhere. Jihoon steps back and pretends to admire the finished product. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright.”

“You fucked up, didn't you,” Woojin deadpans, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips, his snaggletooth peeking out the way it does when he's borderline-laughing.

“What?” Jihoon huffs, manages the most offended expression he can muster up before brushing imaginary dust off of his too-red hands and clicking his tongue. “Um, yes? I might have? But is that really what matters when we just spent two hours together in a tiny bathroom killing brain cells and building new bridges in our relationship?”

Woojin groans and rolls his eyes. “How bad is it?”

“It's,” Jihoon stammers out, biting his lower lip to suppress the laugh when he finds that the only hint of red he can see is the weird dick-shaped splotch at the very crown of Woojin's head. “It's not the worst. We're supposed to let it sit for a while and wash it out. I'm sure it'll look different then?”

Where he expects a wry remark, something sharp and exasperated, he gets a level stare and then hands reaching out to gingerly cup his.

“You look like you just murdered someone,” comments Woojin. He's holding one of Jihoon's hands, palm-up, gently—ridiculously delicately that it's making Jihoon's heart do that thing where it palpitates so erratically that he almost thinks he's having a heart attack. “Aren't you supposed to wear gloves, expert Jihoon?”

Jihoon doesn't reply immediately, a little too focused on the way Woojin squeezes Jihoon's fingers fondly. “Well,” he grumbles out. “Sometimes experts get too excited at the idea of finally getting to spend some time with their  _ idiot _ of a boyfriend that they stretch the truth and also forget the fundamental rules of skincare.”

“The fundamental rules of skincare include not dyeing your hands red?”

“I'm starting to think they should.” Jihoon sighs. His gaze flits from the fluorescent lights flickering above them to the mess of toothbrushes huddled in a cup on the rim of the sink and then to Woojin. “Sorry for potentially fucking up your hair because I love you.”

And, well, Woojin looks ridiculous with his hair like this and a towel straight out of the Apocalypse wrapped around his neck but Jihoon probably looks marginally worse with a crime scene on his hands and the dumbest smile on his face.

Woojin drops Jihoon's hand, reaching out to curl his fingers around the lapels of Jihoon's shirt and pull him forward—closer,  _ closer _ —until their lips meet, smile to smile.

“I'm sorry too,” he says after they part. “For lying about wanting to dye my hair to spend time with you.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jihoon gives woojin a red envelope for new year’s, but there’s something else inside instead of money (prompt from [@baristaminseok](http://twitter.com/baristaminseok))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 245 words

new years in their friend group is usually spent like this. before they're all too drunk to function, they pass around letters to each other and sometimes little gifts. like a gift card for coffee because jisung probably bought all of them coffee at least twenty times in the last year. or like a ward of cash because minhyun's rich ass may have paid your rent last month when you quit your stupid job.

then they drunk. and party. and go wild. and have so many stories for the next year that they only barely will finish telling them by the next year's party.

the next morning, they go home and open their red envelopes. read the nice things they wrote about each other. take whatever gift is offered to them without question. daniel tried to give back one of his gifts once and the whole group ignored him for a week. he ended up just accepting it like he was should've to begin with.

this year, after all the partying and all the crazy, woojin flops onto his bed back home and begins opening his envelopes. he opens jihoon's first. always. it's boyfriend privilege.

there is no letter. there is a ring.

woojin trips as he runs to grab his phone and he drops his phone before he manages to speed dial jihoon.

"you're a little shit for proposing first," he says when jihoon answers. "but my answer is fuck yes. let's do it."

 

❀


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon forgot his red scarf on the train and woojin picked it up (prompt by [@_vivichan](http://twitter.com/_vivichan))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — 432 words

it’s like a scene from a drama, finding a lost scarf on the train just as it’s departing, with the owner nowhere in sight. it’s a ratty old thing, just barely holding itself together in woojin’s hands, but the majority of its flaws are hidden by how eye-catchingly red it is. on the right person, people can even be convinced that the tears and runs are a statement.

woojin bunches the scarf absently under his arm. he’ll bring the scarf on his train rides for the rest of the week to see if anyone will stake a claim. if not, well, it’s old. the owner probably meant to throw it out anyway.

  
  


it’s late on a friday night, woojin’s last chance to give back the red scarf to its owner, when he realizes he should try leaving it at the lost and found before getting on the train. the lady at the counter points him to a guard, who then points him to an out-of-the-way corridor with one glass window, in front of which, a boy has already somehow worked himself up into a state of distress.

woojin wants to hang back, partly to give him some privacy, partly to not get dragged in should things escalate. despite the polite distance, even whispers have a way of echoing in corridors like this, so woojin can’t help but hear, “please, are you sure no one found it?” and “it might’ve been given to a different station, maybe you could make some calls?”; from behind the glass, a low and patient “park jihoon-ssi, we will do all we can to recover your item, but it’s possible that it could’ve been… disposed... or stolen…”

_ must be something important _ , woojin thinks, looking down at the tattered scarf draped over his arm. probably a phone or some other gadget.

“what—what about the cctv? would the cameras have caught anything? it’s bright red!”

woojin makes a noise of surprise, and the boy hears him, turning his head mid-rant. all of sudden, woojin finds himself the uncomfortable object of laser-sharp focus, until he notices that it’s actually the scarf on his arm.

“you found it,” the boy says, anxiety shrinking back into his skin, all but forgotten. his knees start to shake under him as his excess energy fades. 

for a second, woojin wonders if the scarf really is that important, but the thought flies out of his head when he just barely catches the boy flinging himself into his arms. “um!”

“thankyouthankyouthankyou!” the boy pulls away, dragging the red scarf back into his possession, hugging it to his chest. “thank you so much for finding it. if i could do anything,  _ anything _ at all! you don’t know how much getting this back means to me.”

woojin clears his throat, awkwardness crawling up and down his spine. “i, i’m happy to help, there’s no need for… just don’t lose it again or something,” he says sullenly. “i’ll go now.”

“wait!”

at the sound of pursuit, woojin walks away faster, cupping his hands around reddening ears.

“hey!” finally, the footsteps following him stop. instead he hears a loud, “thank you!” just as he rounds the corner to the turnstiles.

 

❀

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading all of our drabbles! if you liked this, feel free to follow our group's twitter account at [bunssodan cross](http://twitter.com/bsdcross) and look out for future projects.
> 
> \- bunssodan cross


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